4 out of 5 stars
I never thought a story about a guy who never leaves his
house could be so interesting. Poor agoraphobic Francis needs
professional help, and he's got some weird boundary issues with his
friends and the odd mix of tenants in his boyhood
home-turned-apartment-building, not to mention a bit of a recreational
self-medication problem, but underneath the disgusting neck beard (seriously,
fucking shave that mess already...all of you facial-hair-run-amok
hipsters, just...ick), long johns and manky bathrobe beats a wounded
heart with the potential for art and empathy, if only he could get out
of his own head long enough to realize it. (Wow, that was a long
sentence, but I think it works.)
Normally such self-absorbed characters annoy me too much to pursue, but Francis actually does care, he just lacks...consistency and those aforementioned boundaries. His depression and anxiety keep getting in the way, and you can't really blame him for that. He's doing the best he can.
Meanwhile, author Rapp's writing tickled my fancy with its humor and depth, so even though there's not a whole lot of action, his book was still a page turner for me. And certainly there's plenty of conflict. Each of Francis' tenants has "issues," and Rapp/Francis paints vivid portraits of each of them, not so much with direct descriptions, but observations relating to the nuances of their being. Even seemingly direct descriptions are hilarious: "For some reason I can't quite imagine her with pubic hair. I see a small series of pyramid-shaped gemstones instead. She is attractive in the same way that certain kinds of high-end candy dishes can be." Or, "In short, Bob Blubaugh looks more like a reference librarian who might also collect vintage eyewear than a former Olympic athlete. And he might be as ageless as a cardboard cylinder of Quaker Oats."
While I agree with some reviewers about what seems at times to be an overuse of metaphors and corduroy (there is a LOT of corduroy in this book--corduroy and smells), much of what Rapp writes is very unique, so I chalk that up to voice. Some readers didn't like all the descriptions and colorful language, but that's Francis. I'm definitely going to check out some of Rapp's other books.
Normally such self-absorbed characters annoy me too much to pursue, but Francis actually does care, he just lacks...consistency and those aforementioned boundaries. His depression and anxiety keep getting in the way, and you can't really blame him for that. He's doing the best he can.
Meanwhile, author Rapp's writing tickled my fancy with its humor and depth, so even though there's not a whole lot of action, his book was still a page turner for me. And certainly there's plenty of conflict. Each of Francis' tenants has "issues," and Rapp/Francis paints vivid portraits of each of them, not so much with direct descriptions, but observations relating to the nuances of their being. Even seemingly direct descriptions are hilarious: "For some reason I can't quite imagine her with pubic hair. I see a small series of pyramid-shaped gemstones instead. She is attractive in the same way that certain kinds of high-end candy dishes can be." Or, "In short, Bob Blubaugh looks more like a reference librarian who might also collect vintage eyewear than a former Olympic athlete. And he might be as ageless as a cardboard cylinder of Quaker Oats."
While I agree with some reviewers about what seems at times to be an overuse of metaphors and corduroy (there is a LOT of corduroy in this book--corduroy and smells), much of what Rapp writes is very unique, so I chalk that up to voice. Some readers didn't like all the descriptions and colorful language, but that's Francis. I'm definitely going to check out some of Rapp's other books.
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